A marriage born of cold calculation
by Borys68
Summary: Miriel needs to replace her husband fallen in the War of the Ring. She needs a man to guard her, her children and the estate until her son comes of age. Hastogur is an ugly Ranger of the North. He has ambitions going beyond an unmarked grave in the Lone Lands. Riding with the Grey Company gives an opportunity to change it. Slightly AU - Hastogur is Aragorn's relative.


- "Dowager Marchgravin Miriel, Regent to Marchgrave Triwathil" - the herald's voice boomed across the ballroom;

- "the Marchgravin announces that she is open to courtship, and dressed in green with white stripes" - the herald continued.

()()()()()()()

Miriel was undressing for her wedding night. She really did not know what to expect this time. There was no mix of the trepidation and excitement like before her first wedding night. Nonetheless at that time she was looking forward to discover what happened between a man and a woman. This night she was hoping for nothing - she had given birth just one month ago and was barely healed. If he insisted ... that would not be a good pointer towards their future ... their first fight. At least none of the awful bloody sheet waving was expected whatever happened between them. She got up and opened the door to the bedchamber. She hesitated - if he ...

Her thoughts were on her groom. She made a half-smile – although thousands of the flower of Gondor's manhood were rotting at Osglisith, in the Pellonor, at Morannon, in south Lebennin – like her husband Himelon, slain alongside his liege Hirluin - she had still managed to find a husband. And this at a time when ballrooms were full of girls between seventeen and just into their twenties – with clear skin, lush hair, trim figures - pushed by their parents at anything in breeches. Be it King Elessar, Eomer King, Steward Faramir, all the way down to any eligible Rohirrim eored leader. Whereas she was pushing thirty, had one child already to her name and was visibly with another on the way. A ruined waistline, stretchmark covered thighs, stomach and breasts (_bye-bye, low cut gowns_), and tired, sparse hair.

And yet she ends up with a bachelor of her own age, with all limbs and faculties, of high although controversial birth. With the King's endorsement of "good character". And incredible as it may seem, the King's relative! However, coming with looks which were an acquired flavour, considering how far they ranged from Gondorian standards of male beauty. Was her fief worth that much? Or had she set her sights so low?

Well, whatever Hastogur lacked in looks and courtly graces he made up in manliness. A hair shorter than she was, he was built like a small troll. Broad shoulders, powerful arms and chest. Able to ride all day and fight at the end of it. That's what she needed for Blackpine March, a dependency of Pinath Gellin. Not only were there orcs in the not so distant White Mountains, she suspected a good portion of the principality's population to be brigands themselves, preying on Anfalas or Morthond Vale.

There never had been any passion in her marriage to Himelon. Nor was any expected. Marriages between third tier noble houses of Gondor were to provide alliances, children and working marriages. Not romance material for bards. At this level few could afford a steward or chatelaine, husband and wife each had their tasks in running the estate. If they did so with mutual respect and a degree of fondness – than that was Eru's blessing on that House. She had spent eighth quite happy years at Himelon's side and had Triwathil – plus the new addition of Pethil – to remember him by. She needed the male part of the team to carry the principality forward for sixteen years until Triwathil was of age. And not to be lonely.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Hastogur had almost spit his ale out when the herald announced "open to courtship ... " That were all his dreams come true! Amidst the gasps and murmurs of "how could she?!", "shameless!" and his own excitement he barely caught the "green with white stripes" bit in the announcement but his opinion of her immediately grew. She didn't use terms like celadon or turquoise but normal words for colours. Once he elbowed his way through the crowd he filtered out the green white combination. Quite pretty she was, he noted to his satisfaction. About twenty five, he'd say. His height or so, with eye pleasing rounded lines of a mature woman, with features typical of Gondorian aristocracy – black hair, high cheekbones, grey eyes. Midway through her pregnancy, he'd say from experience gathered while carrying his mother's instruments' bag on her rounds. A child of the farewells from the time of the Muster in February or March, he thought with sadness and sympathy.

He lost no time in introducing himself.

- "Hastogur son of Aravir, Ranger of the North."

She gave him an eye over. Fair enough, he had just done the same to her. He had dressed in manner of the Rohirrim, as before riding with the Grey Command the most elegant surroundings he had been at was the Prancing Pony in Bree. He would not make an idiot of himself like "Travel Light" Rosben who dressed in his Ranger wear to such functions (_and was sometimes asked where somebody's horse was_), nor would he wear Gondorian style finery.

He found his courage to speak, although he'd prefer to charge frenzied orcs.

- "Lady, I will be frank. I am looking for a wife. I wish to settle down. I am not interested in leading the life of my brothers and kinsmen – in the wilds and with maybe 60 nights under a roof a year. I wish to have a wife of whom I see more then just the four or six weeks of the Yule season. I offer you my sword. I offer you my skills as ranger. I offer you my service as commander of men capable of tracking and killing orcs and bandits, be it on foot or mounted. I offer to protect and cherish you. I offer to protect and cherish your children. I offer to cherish any children we may have." – He swallowed after the speech.

– "I wish to court you. Should you be interested my older kinsmen can testify to my character."

He preferred not to bring Aragorn into it, to let her make up her mind about him on his own merit. He could always mention his royal cousin to push a decision once he found her agreeable and she was wavering.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

He saw her open the door from the dressing room. She hesitated in the doorway. Then she marched up to the bed and lay besides him, careful not to touch.

- "My lady wife, my lady mother fancies herself a midwife. She told me and my brothers that if we ever touched our wives sooner than three months after a baby, she'd ensure she'd see no more grandchildren from us (_actually she was much more crass than that_). Can we snuggle?"


End file.
